by Ivy Hunt
“Good evening, Rebecca, Logan.” Her crystalline accent matches the sleek edges of her cheekbones, another feature she shares with her brother.
I look over my shoulder and smile in greeting as Logan reverses out. “Hi, Ms. Barnes. Jenna.”
“Hey Jen,” Logan says. He skims the digital clock on the dashboard. “A minute and a half late.”
Jenna looks heavenward and shakes her head. Logan smirks and merges in with the traffic zooming by.
“I’m looking forward to meeting your parents,” I say.
“Mm-hmm,” Jenna murmurs. I look back, her attention is fixed on her phone screen.
An awkward silence reigns. My opportunity to wow Jenna with my wit and I have nothing. Logan is no help. All his focus is on the road—a good thing I suppose. Still, so much for being comrades-in-arms.
When we cross into Long Island, Jenna’s the one who initiates conversation. “So. How did you two meet?” Her gaze finds Logan’s in the rearview mirror. “Forgive me, but I wouldn't have guessed you ran in the same circles.”
I knew we should have rehearsed something.
I rush to answer when Logan doesn’t immediately respond. “Umm…Funny story, that…” My legs cross. Then uncross. I press clammy hands on my skirt so as not to repeat that action. Darting a look at my supposed co-conspirator, I swear I see his shoulder shake.
Logan finally gets with the program and flashes a quick grin my way. “We met at a club.” He places his hand over mine on my thigh, clearly visible from the back seat. I try not to squirm.
“My friend was having a…a going away party.” Jenna doesn’t need to think clubs are part of my regularly scheduled programming.
“They were getting drinks when a couple of guys went up to them,” Logan continues.
I’m this close to rolling my eyes, given that it was he and his friends who had approached us.
“They were making such nuisances of themselves.” I slide a look at him.
His lips twitch, his attention still on the road. “And of course, I stepped in like a knight in shining armor.” He starts to warm to his story, “She didn't know I was this big football hero—”
“And then we got talking,” I interrupt before he can sprout more bullshit.
Logan chuckles softly and squeezes my hand. “And the rest, as they say, is history,” he ends.
We are saved from more fiction-on-the-fly when Jenna's phone rings, and the rest of the drive passes in relative peace, except that Logan's fingers are still threaded through mine.
We pull into the driveway of a Long Island home, a two-story brick structure in a gated community. The front door stands open, and a tiny woman in a green silk top and grey slacks is waiting. I assume she is his mother when she embraces me as soon as we’re out of the car. “Rebecca! I'm so, so pleased to meet you.”
I’m caught off guard at the effusive welcome but flip on a faux smile. “Mrs. Barnes, hello.” I wonder which of the Barnes siblings warned her I was coming to dinner.
“Call me Rhonda,” she says. “I can't remember the last time Logan brought a girl home!”
“Neither can I,” Jenna murmurs, low enough that only Logan and I can hear, but none of her angst seems directed to me.
“Oh, I'm not that bad.” Logan gives his sister the side-eye while he hugs their mother.
He introduces me to his dad, George. Logan and Jenna clearly get their looks from him because familiar blue eyes assess me, but his are free of the suspicion both his offspring dealt me earlier today.
Rhonda ushers us into the huge living room that screams Architectural Digest with its oak floors, cream walls, and vaulted ceiling. Logan strides over to a deep red velvet couch and pulls me down beside him while Jenna takes a high-backed accent chair to his right.
“It will be a few minutes before dinner is ready. George, get the kids drinks.” Rhonda perches on the edge of the loveseat across from us.
“What would you like, Rebecca?” George inquires.
“I’m okay. Thank you.” Given my recent history with alcohol, it might be best to abstain.
He goes into the kitchen and emerges a moment later with two bottles and sets them on a sideboard crammed with glasses. He pours Jenna and Rhonda Chardonnays then fills a pint glass and holds it out to Logan. “From my latest batch.”
“You make beer?” My eyes are saucers of delight. It’s been a long time since I’ve had bespoke brew.
“I do!” His gaze swings to me. His grin is an older version of Logan’s. “Turned the garage into my own little brewery when I retired.”
“My dad used to make beer, too,” I tell him.
“Well, then, try it, and tell me how it compares!” George orders. He tips a generous amount into a glass for me and waits expectantly.
I sniff it then take a sip. “Hoppy. So good!”
“Next time you see your father, bring him a growler,” George says.
“Ummm…he actually passed away a couple of years ago. Heart attack.” It’s not the thick brew that makes me swallow. Logan envelopes my hand in his.
“Oh, you poor dear. I’m so sorry.” Rhonda clasps her fingers together and leans forward.
“Thanks. It happened a while ago.”
“What about the rest of your family?” George asks.
“I’m an only child. Mom’s a principal at a prep school in Michigan, and I have lots of uncles and aunts and cousins.”
“Nobody in New York?” Rhoda’s tone is concerned.
“No, my mom really wants me to move back. But I have some great friends here.”
Logan’s mom fixes on our joined hands. “And a great boyfriend, too!” Her lips curve.
“It’s not hard with someone like Rebecca.” Logan brings our intertwined fingers up to his lips and brushes them across my knuckles. My pulse skitters, but before it can go full-on hopscotch, I force myself to remember it’s for show. I paste on a proper, girlfriend-esque expression and lean into his side while I run my thumb back and forth across his palm. They are capable hands. Even calloused from football, his grip is firm but gentle.
“And he’s been treating you well?” George asks, eyeing his son.
“Logan’s been wonderful.” I turn to my fake boyfriend and give him a soft smile. For someone who’s never had a girlfriend before, he is very adept, at least four-stars. Better than the real thing—not that I’ve had many to compare him with.
Logan’s returning grin is accompanied by a sly wink as he drops a quick kiss on my nose. Rhonda’s sigh echoes in the space. I have to take a couple more sips to cool myself off.
“So, Rebecca, tell us more about yourself.” George angles himself forward, forearms on his knees.
This is the bit I rehearsed. Meet-the-Girlfriend 101. “As I mentioned, I’m originally from Michigan, moved to New York for school, and then never left. I finished my master’s in Human Resources at NYU a couple of months ago.”
“She interviewed with McCann,” Logan tells his dad. He slants a proud smile at me and puts his arm around my shoulder then draws me close.
“Your McCann?” Rhonda turns to her daughter, brows raised.
Jenna tips her head, yes.
Rhonda’s gaze swivels back to us. “Is that how you met?”
Logan takes a sip of his beer. “No, we only realized it after Becs ran into Jenna at my place.”
“Fate! Oh my, isn’t that lovely?” Rhonda beams.
Lovely’s not the word. I keep my smile pinned in place.
“So when do you start?” George asks.
Oxygen enters my lungs via the tiny gaps in my teeth as I sneak a look at Jenna. “Ummm…”
It’s Logan who answers, “She hasn’t been offered the position. Yet.” He cuts an eye at Jenna, daring her to contradict this pronouncement.
I’m going to kick him. The goal is to impress Jenna, not railroad her into a decision. This whole production requires finesse. I set my heel on his foot, but he only tugs me in tighter. His face is pure confi
dence and a teeny, tiny part of me warms at his support, even if it is all pretend.
The impermeable mask on Jenna’s face doesn’t crack, not one iota. She ignores Logan and addresses her father instead, “My team is reviewing all the applicants who have made it to the final round.”
I gulp. Final. That’s just so final. It hits me again how much I need this to work out.
“Well, good luck then, Rebecca,” Rhonda says.
I nod my thanks. Jenna might be a robot, but the rest of the Barnes family is wonderful.
The conversation shifts to Logan’s upcoming season while Jenna talks to her mother about her home renovations until the oven timer goes off, and we move into the dining room for round two.
Chapter Six
LOGAN
I haven’t been able to keep my hands off Rebecca all night, and it’s not all for show. Slight touches on her back, her thigh, along her arm result in shivers, goosebumps, dilated eyes. I’m stoked at her little reactions. Strange because I never pay much attention to women when we’re not in the throes of a good fuck. And I’ve been paying attention to Rebecca since the moment she opened the door this evening. So prim and put together—all the better to muss up.
Instead, we are at my parents’ home having red velvet cake. Mom makes it from scratch since it’s my favorite. As a consolation prize, it’s not awful.
Dad takes a bite and turns his attention to me. “Have you thought more about retirement?”
After second and third helpings, my stomach still hollows out. I grunt. I’d been hoping to avoid all conversation about my post-football career tonight. I haven’t a clue. My eyes go from Dad to Mom to Jenna, all worried about my next move. Scared that if left idle, I’ll get myself arrested or worse. I’m sure Jenna has bail money ready and a lawyer on speed dial.
Mom sees my face. “George, let him finish this season out.”
“The boy needs a plan,” Dad grumbles.
The boy makes millions of dollars and paid for this house.
Before I can retort, Rebecca’s hand lands on my thigh and squeezes an I got you. It’s the first time Becs has touched me since last night, and my pulse surges even as my lungs ease.
“This cake is so good. I haven’t had anything like it in ages.”
My mother beams at the compliment, and the subject turns to baking. When our plates are empty, Mom starts to rise. “Let me clear up.”
Dad waves her down. “Rhonda, honey, you sit with Rebecca. The kids will help me wash up.”
Divide and conquer. That’s tonight’s strategy. I groan inwardly but shoot Becs a reassuring smile as I stack the dishes, then follow Dad and Jenna into the kitchen.
We form our usual assembly line—Dad scrapes leftovers into the trash, I wash, and Jen dries. I roll my sleeves up, all set to go.
Dad hands me a dish. “So…Rebecca seems like a nice girl. I like her.”
Jenna gives him an indulgent smile. “You like that she likes your beer.”
Dad shrugs. “She likes my beer. She likes my son. Why shouldn’t I think she has good taste?”
I huff a laugh at that.
The side of his mouth rises, but his eyes stay trained on Jenna. “You’ve spent time with her, Jen. What is your opinion?”
She wipes the dish in her hand, three full circular movements to make sure no stray drop is missed. “She is very nice.”
Ringing endorsement there. Dad must think the same because his brows rise. “And?”
“She’s very, very nice,” she repeats. A cool blue stare slants my way before returning to the task at hand.
“And I’m not?” I keep my voice light. Meanwhile, deep in the soapy dishwater, my fists clench.
Her shrug speaks volumes.
Dad shakes his head at the two of us, then turns to me and prods, “How serious is it?”
“I brought her here, didn’t I? Isn’t that sign enough?” I duck the question. Dad sighs, hands me the last dirty plate, and goes out to join Mom. I pass Jenna another dish to dry.
“Mmm…”
“What?” I swing my gaze to Jenna with a growl. Her red dishtowel might as well be a matador’s cape.
Her head tips, and she examines me as if I’m a recent addition to her Petri dish. I swear she took all the seriousness with her when she evacuated our mother’s womb. We couldn’t be more different.
“You don’t always…think things through.”
No shit. But at least we’re getting to the point. “Because I don’t have my life planned out?” So fucking what?
“That’s neither here nor there. Frankly, I’m more surprised that Rebecca is going out with you. She didn’t seem like the football type when I first interviewed her.”
It’s the most straightforward answer I’ve gotten tonight, but still my hackles rise. “Does that mean you won’t hire her? Because she is dating me?” Wet arms cross my chest and dampen my shirt at the sides.
If Jenna thinks that Rebecca dating me is a liability and questions her judgement, then this whole plan is going to backfire. Annihilate her chances of getting the job.
“I didn’t say that.” Jenna’s features pucker as if she’s vacuumed up an entire lemon tree with her mouth. “That would be discrimination.”
“Glad you know it. Make sure you act like the professional you keep saying you are,” I grind out.
“Of course, I will.” She wrings the towel as if wishing it were my neck, affronted that I would question her moral code. But then she lets out a slow, weary breath. “It’s just…you aren’t very…domestic, you know?”
My jaw muscles clench. “What does that mean?” Maybe Becs and I are better off forgetting this scheme. My family—Dad and Jenna, anyway—are more suspicious than I expected. I sneak a look through the open doorway to where Rebecca and my parents are laughing. It’s nice to see them happy. And earlier with Becs? It was cool to have someone in my corner for once. The big football player needs a pint-sized shield. I snort under my breath. Damned right he does.
Jenna finally says, “Logan, it’s just that you don’t usually spend time with people like Rebecca.”
“Judgy much?” I stare down my nose at her. She’s right, but give a guy the benefit of the doubt for fuck’s sake.
“Oh, grow up.” Her eyes flash.
I grit my teeth as we stare at each other in flat-lipped silence. Unstoppable force meets immovable object. Kaboom.
Her expression softens the slightest bit. “I’m only asking if it will last.”
“Why do you care?”
“Well, if I’ll be working with Rebecca after this…?”
Of course, that’s it. Nothing to do with me. But at least it sounds like Becs is still in the running. That’s a good sign. Quit while you’re ahead.
“Fine. Just Jen…don’t be a bitch, not to Becs.” I don’t know why I’m getting all protective here, but I can’t stop myself from gritting out the warning. “Don’t fuck things up for her.”
Jenna gives me a hard stare. “I won’t.”
“Okay.” I snatch the towel out of Jenna’s hands and dry mine. “Time to go.”
“I’ll get my things.”
It’s going to be a long fucking week in close quarters. We’re as chummy as North and South Korea. She was never supposed to stay with me in the first place, but when she mentioned moving to a hotel, Mom had a shit fit and insisted she move in with me.
And Becs can play DMZ.
We head back to the living space and spend a few more minutes chatting. When it’s time to say goodbye, Mom embraces Becs. “I look forward to seeing you again soon, Rebecca.”
A weak smile appears. “Same here, Mrs. Barnes.”
“We'll be at the opening game on Thursday. You'll be there too, right?” Dad says to her as he wraps a big arm around Mom’s shoulder.
Before Becs can drum up some excuse, I haul her to my side. Not so fast. “Yes, she'll be sitting with you.”
Rebecca’s expression falters, but she catches herself. Only
I can feel her stiffen against me.
“Oh, how wonderful!” Mom says.
“Thursday?” Rebecca hisses once we are in the car.
“Later,” I respond, jerking my chin at Jenna. She’s finished her goodbyes and is right behind us.
Chapter Seven
LOGAN
“Logan, this isn’t the way to Brooklyn.” Rebecca’s tone climbs when I turn into the Midtown Tunnel towards Manhattan.
“Babe, you’re staying over, aren’t you?” I don’t take my eyes off the road. “You always stay over on Fridays.”
I can tell that Becs is seething. She slides a glance at Jenna in the rearview mirror. “Honey, I didn’t pack any clothes. Thought I’d stay home since your sister’s with you this weekend. I don’t want to get in the way.”
“You don’t need clothes.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Becs’s mouth drop and steam almost coming out of her ears. “I’ll drive you to your place tomorrow morning.”
I meet Jenna’s eyes in the reflection and shake my head. “Rebecca isn’t always the best planner.”
If looks could kill…The corner of my mouth lifts.
“Yes, please don’t let me stop you. I promised Logan I wouldn’t be in the way,” Jenna says.
“Ah…I guess. Okay,” Becs responds with obvious reluctance.
We drive the rest of the way home in silence. I don’t know when I consciously made the decision to keep Rebecca with me. I find Jenna in the mirror. I blame her. She’s sucked the life-force out of the car, and we are subsisting on fumes that are messing with my head.
It’s almost midnight by the time we arrive. Friday night traffic in New York is a bitch. Once we are upstairs in my penthouse, I turn to Jenna. “You have everything you need?”
She nods. “Yes, thank you. What do you have going on tomorrow?” Her voice is conciliatory.
“We’ll be around. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Just like the domesticated couple we are.”
She inclines her head, ever so slightly. “Well, I’m off to bed. Goodnight.”